Brisbane’s pop-punk upstarts Two Times Shy are soaring lofty heights as they let loose their …
ANDREW W.K. with The Bennies and Bare Bones
The Corner Hotel, Melbourne
25th August, 2018
A branch disconnected from its tree is dead to the world; a man in isolation is the same. Andrew W.K., the Party Emperor (as we’ve described him) knows this, focusing all his living passion into uniting us with an invisible binding force: music.
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It’s why you’re here. It’s why you’ll stand in a room full of strangers for hours on end. It’s why you’ll weep real tears when your favourite artist’s branch falls from our tree of life.
He’ll say it today, and he’ll say it tomorrow night in Sydney; music is worth living for.
Princely (formerly known as) disco lights traced their way around the Corner Hotel, black columns holding the roof aloft like Atlas does his Earth. Not really, but they’re kind of iconic at this point. Bare Bones are chunking off big riffs, dirty as a tip at high noon. It forces some of the punk rockers and long-hairs to creep up the front and nod along. Bare Bones were sure on the lips of punters once they were done. Down home rock ‘n’ roll with one helluva voice up front. Some more of those riffs, please. (At Halloween Hysteria, natch.)
Bare Bones // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Bare Bones // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Bare Bones // By Nathan Goldsworthy
The Corner Hotel looks gussied up tonight, like a tomboy trying out lippy and rouge for the first time. The upstairs part is chock full of hipster types and basics, the ones who can have their house repayment and eat avocado toast, too. The photos and posters of rock ‘n’ roll legends in the upstairs part? All gone. It’ll be a once-remembered rock venue, instead of being one proper. Remember the Arthouse? Thought so.
The White House and the Knesset should consider The Bennies to lead a peace mission to the Middle East, since they’re the only band capable of uniting crust punks, rivetheads, and triple j engorged pretentious types in the one room. Anty Horgan, single-minded party starter wore a perma-smile on his face, ringmaster of his own circus of ska/punk/electro/metal mayhem. Their horn section even appeared for a couple of tracks, cramped off to the side for a belting rendition of Heavy Disco and the suitably off-tap Party Machine featuring a mental mini-cover of Sabotage. If you felt no joy after watching The Bennies you have no heart. Sound like you? You should get that checked.
The Bennies // Nathan Goldsworthy
The Bennies // By Nathan Goldsworthy
The Bennies // By Nathan Goldsworthy
The Bennies // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Half an hour of blackness and curtain-staring later, we’re given one command, and one command only: Party. Party. Party. We’ve all felt that swell of anticipation in our bellies, rising to our chests seeing our favourite band. Andrew W.K. inspires the same butterflies as a casual (and supposedly detached) observer. It keeps going: Party. Party. Party. Louder now. PARTY. PARTY. PARTY. Oh my god Andrew, what are you doing to me?
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Out pops the entire band—even a chest-length curly-haired dude who is wearing an Obituary t-shirt, and looks a lot like John Tardy (holy shit, is that John Tardy? Fuck, it really looks like John Tardy.) and within seconds, we’re mesmerised by the obliterating presence of Mr. Andrew Wilkes-Krier. Dressed in customary off-white whites, streaky black hair, and beaming smile we’re treated to Music Is Worth Living For. A massive cut opening a massive show. Like everything Andrew does in life, he doesn’t fuck around.
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Andrew W.K. // Photo: Jaz Meadows
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
When he’s in profile, hammering away at his piano, it’s like we’re witnessing our living spirit—our soul, maybe—take flight in its natural habitat. As his falsetto soars over us all, writhing bodies and screams of laughter, it’s as if that field of absolute terror that keeps everyone at length, drops. How can you not, when Andrew stands proud and announces “I’m going to play a guitar shaped like a slice of pizza,” and does. In all seriousness. I think he was playing a Sabbath song. It launches She is Beautiful, a grandiose punk rock track about how beautiful girls are. “Even if you black out, your soul will remember it,” Andrew tells us.
It was time to party, and we partied hard.
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Andrew chucks the party greats in a blender and sets it to puree on We Want Fun!—a bit of Ramones looseness, Jim Steinman epicness, and Journey singalong-ness all wrapped in one fun package. When he’s zooming through You’re Not Alone, all Jim Steinman at this point, he’s gazing at his guitarist by his right, overcome with emotion at just how beautiful music can be, if you really let it. Was he weeping? Even if he was, fuck it.
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Andrew W.K. // By Nathan Goldsworthy
Before long, the night’s at its curtain’s draw. An hour and a half has streaked past in a blur, and elation is all we feel. Ever the manic showman, Andrew leads a countdown from 100 to Party Hard. Yeah, 100. This song, more so than the others, captures his ability to make every track he plays as impactful as his first and as meaningful as his last. A flourish and cut of the air with his finger, he points skyward as golden light beams at him from every direction. For what felt like hours. It was a tableau; a tableau of party. If you have but one life to live, make sure an Andrew W.K. show is part of it.
It was time to party, and we partied hard.
